


Hot Chocolate Soothes the Soul

by NikaWithSpice



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikaWithSpice/pseuds/NikaWithSpice
Summary: Ed gets stuck walking in the rain; Roy gives him a ride.An attempt at short fluffy goodness!
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 13
Kudos: 129





	Hot Chocolate Soothes the Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Killwaii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killwaii/gifts).



It’s one of those autumn storms that you can see coming for hours; the clouds roll over the sky, heavy and dark, as the wind picks up, slinging crunchy orange leaves all over the pavement. The pressure has been building all day long, the sky darkening long before sunset, and yet somehow, despite the aching flesh around his ports, Ed still missed the signs. He steps out from the warmth of the library into a veritable wall of icy rain and shouts as he’s instantly soaked through, the cold water dragging his clothes against his skin.

Well. At least he didn’t check out any books this time but he’s still got a helluva walk back to the Hughes' house, and the storm is unforgiving in its intensity. A gust of wind blows his braid into his mouth right as he opens it to curse a blue streak into the dark and he chokes on it before finally swatting it free. The blonde strands cling to his cheeks, his neck, the fastenings on his coat and Ed stomps into the storm with an angry, pained snarl.

There’s no point pulling his hood over his head but he tries anyway and finds it just as useless as he expected it would be. His shivering upsets his stumps, as does the chilly bite in the air, but it’s not like he has any choice other than walking back. A passing car makes it worse by dumping an entire gutterful of filthy water and Ed raises his fist to shout profanities at it, not that that helps him either. This is all the fucking Colonel Bastard’s fault, he’s the one who suggested Ed go to the library for reference information, while Al went to help Gracia with Elicia. Bastard should have warned him about the storm.

Or maybe Ed should have taken the time to look out a window during his research, what the fuck ever. All that matters now is that it’s wet, and it’s cold, and if Ed gets sick, he’ll probably be down for at least a week, which he can’t really afford. It’s rare that he gets sick but when he does, well. He’s always been a terrible patient, probably because he lacks patience but there’s just so much shit to get done, so much research to finish, so many leads to chase down.

“Fullmetal!”

The sound of his title being called close to his ear makes him shout, arms flailing as he’s surprised from his thoughts, and he falls into a puddle of muddy water where he just… sits, staring balefully up at the person who is trying hard not to laugh from inside his nice and warm and cozy car.

Ed huffs a breath, blowing a leaf free from the golden strands of hair trying to suffocate him by closing off his airways. “What the fuck, Colonel?!”

“I’ve called your name at least ten times, Fullmetal. I’ve been driving beside you for the better part of five minutes,” fuck, Ed just wants to wipe that smarmy smile off the bastard’s face but there’s something in those obsidian eyes that hints at concern, hidden beneath his cheerful intonation. “Why don’t you hop in? I’ll give you a ride to the Hughes’.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ed says as he lumbers to his feet. He almost loses his balance, the dull ache of his stumps now a mighty roar of cold-fueled agony, but he manages to catch himself on the door handle right as the sky decides to really open up, unleashing an unholy amount of rain that has him leaping into the car with a muttered, “Fuckin’ shit, what the hell is this mess?”

There’s a muffled snicker from his right that has his arm drawing back in a threatening pose but Mustang merely drapes his own coat over his shaking shoulders. Which is good because he knows that he looks like a bedraggled cat but that doesn’t mean he wants his fucking cru– commanding officer to acknowledge the fact. There’s a click and then warm air blasts his face and Ed fucking melts into it, holding his hands up to the vents with a pleased sigh. “That’s so fuckin’ nice,” he mumbles, wishing he could lay directly over the dash where all the heat is coming from.

“I can barely see through this downpour,” Mustang says as he adjusts the windshield wipers but the flimsy things can’t seem to keep up with the water sloshing all over the glass. The headlights appear to flicker in the rising mist brought upon by the sudden chill, causing Mustang to drive much slower than he usually would. “Would it be all right if we stopped at my house until the storm eases up?”

There’s a crash of thunder mere seconds after he finishes speaking and then lightning spiders across the sky, as if to reinforce the common sense behind Mustang’s suggestion. Ed sighs, already resigned to hours spent trying to put up with his– the Colonel’s company. Mustang takes that for the answer it is and coaxes the car forward through the storm, and for once, his annoyingly flirty conversation is silenced by the need to pay attention to the flooded streets. Buildings pass as a blur of shadows illuminated by sporadic strikes of lightning and Ed tries to focus on them instead of the way Mustang’s bare hands curl around the steering wheel.

Close to Mustang’s house, the roads begin to grow slick, water freezing as the temperature rapidly drops, and causing the car to swerve a bit. Ed catches a glimpse of snowflakes swirling amid the downpour, and his hopes for heading back to meet up with his brother dwindle further, leaving him pouting out the window. Not that he pouts! Cause he doesn’t. Really. And the heater is losing its battle against the cold air, tempting Ed to slump closer to Mustang purely to steal his body heat to soothe the chattering of his teeth but like hell is he going to be caught dead snuggling up to him.

“Are we almost there? I’m fuckin’ freezing here,” Ed hisses. His automail is bitterly cold against his skin, his battered nerves stinging from the sensation. At this rate, he’s going to catch frostbite from his own damn automail and Winry’ll crack him over the head with the biggest wrench she can find.

“Just ahead, at the next intersection,” Mustang says as he fiddles with the heat again; the warmth flares blessedly higher but it’s a weak breeze against the chill already firmly settled in his bones. “Try not to freeze to death over there, I’d rather not face the wrath of your brother. Or Hawkeye or Maes, for that matter. When did they start liking you more than me?” he jokes and Ed appreciates the effort but he’s fighting off the irritability that’s growing by the second, urged on by the burgeoning pain, and he can only manage a gruff, “Dunno,” in response.

“Here we are then! Wait here while I unlock the door, if you will.”

Ed grunts an agreement, hunkering down in the seat and gripping Mustang’s coat tight around himself to brace against the cold billowing in when Mustang opens his car door. He must zone out because Mustang is back when his eyes crack open, and his arm slides around Ed’s waist to help him out of the car. Ed grits his teeth, biting his tongue against a sharp protest, because he does need the help. His damned automail is too stiff from the cold for him to force it to move and there’s ice all over the damn sidewalk, and even more pelting down at them from the sky.

Mustang must have lit the fire while he was inside because the inside is drastically warmer than the brutal stormy air outside, causing Ed to gasp as the heat seeps through his soaked clothes. As it always does when his stumps revolt against the weather, Ed’s stomach is threatening to empty its contents all over the nice floor of Mustang’s entryway and the Colonel must see some warning on his face because he half-drags him up the stairs to what turns out to be a bathroom.

The bathtub is steaming faintly, the faucet still running as it fills the tub.

“Alphonse has mentioned that the cold and wet weather is particularly cruel to your ports,” Mustang explains as he settles Ed on the stool settled on the floor in front of the tub. The water smells strongly of bergamot, which also explains the occasional whiff of the scent that Ed catches when he steps too closely to Mustang. “Now, you get cleaned up and I’ll drag some blankets downstairs before the storm knocks the power out. Should I leave the door unlocked in case you might need a hand?”

Ed strongly considers telling him to lock it but with the way his flesh limbs tremble and with how stiff his automail feels… “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll shout if I need help getting up.”

“Of course. Do try not to leave any leaves in the bath, they might clog the drain,” Mustang ducks as Ed swats weakly at him, and then he leaves, and Ed is free to shove the offensively-cold clothes off and sink down into the hot water.

* * *

“Edward– “ Mustang’s voice sounds weird, reedy and rough, and it’s coming from right above him, which startles him into full awareness. “Oh, good. Now that you’ve shortened my lifespan, would you care to join me downstairs?” He keeps his dark eyes averted, which is actually kinda nice when Ed thinks about it, as he holds out a massive towel. “Sorry I couldn’t find any towels more your size, they don’t appear to make them any smaller.”

“I may be in agony but I will still fuckin’ hit you,” Ed grumbles but he stumbles into Mustang’s arms when he tries to crawl out of the now-cool water. He catches him as if by instinct, before Ed even realizes there’s a chance to fall, and then he’s bundled up into the softest fabric ever which is also warm. “Heated towels? I might forgive you for the size jokes,” he hums as he’s gently rubbed free of water droplets.

“Yes, they do come in handy. I don’t have any underthings to fit you but if you hold the towel up, I can help you into these pajamas,” is that a blush highlighting Mustang’s elegant cheekbones? It could be the heat of the bathroom but his voice is so low, so deep… Ed’s never heard him talk like this, so affected, and Ed wants to catalog this information, spin it around and analyze every layer of his voice but he’s still cold, and he’s still in pain, and now he’s tired. A sneeze rattles his frame, directed away from Mustang but still vicious enough to irritate his stumps. “That doesn’t sound good. Let’s get you warmed up, I can almost feel Alphonse threatening my life.”

“Nah, you would never if Al was gonna kill ya. He’d do it quietly, in a way he’d never be caught.”

“Well, then. I shall always endeavor to stay on his good side then, which means you need to step into these bottoms,” Mustang crouches before him, letting him balance himself with a hand to his shoulder, so that he can help Ed slide the bottoms up his legs. “Here, let’s wrap your hair in this so you don’t soak the sweater,” Mustang’s hands only tremble a little as he taps Ed’s forehead and Ed bends at the waist so that Mustang can twist his hair up in a dry towel. “There. Almost done.”

Ed slips the sweater over his head, inhaling deeply as the scent settles over him. Mustang’s eyes are dilated when Ed looks up, his dark gaze locked on Ed’s hand holding the sweater to his nose. Ed bursts into flame, embarrassed to be caught but Mustang looks far from angry. If anything, he looks…

...Mustang looks fucking tempted.

But then he swallows harshly, his throat bobbing with the effort, and then he holds out his hand for Ed to grab, which he does, and then he leads him back down the stairs.

There’s a fucking mountain of blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace, heaped on top of what looks like a mattress, and Ed makes his way towards it, sinking down and burrowing under them with a rough groan. The blankets are warmed by the fire and it feels so fucking good that he could fall back asleep. It’s only when the lights flicker and go out that Ed even remembers the storm. It must have all turned to snow because the world is quiet in a way that only happens when snow dampens all sound, halting all city life.

“Here, Edward,” Mustang pulls him from his quiet musings again by handing him a mug that’s brown and frothing.

“What’s this?” Ed peers down into the depths of the mug, inhaling the scents of chocolate and cinnamon. It smells delicious, whatever it is.

“Ah, it’s a drink my aunt used to make for me whenever it would snow. Hot chocolate with a bit of cinnamon, it’ll help warm you up,” Mustang sinks down beside him, setting his own mug to the side, well clear of the bed. He brandishes a brush and holds it questioningly towards him, and Ed tilts his head, contemplating.

No one’s brushed his hair since his mom died. No one’s fixed him hot drinks or… or taken care of him, not really. It’s always been him, being strong for everyone else. Taking care of everyone else. Putting himself last. And there’s something, there’s a pressure building in the air between them, something new and different, but Mustang isn’t choosing to address it. Not tonight. Tonight, he’s only trying to take care of him and that– fuck, Ed really fucking wants to be taken care of, for once.

Ed gives a hesitant nod. Mustang gives him a small smile and gets to work. Gently, he loosens the towel and then rubs the wet locks of Ed’s hair between the cloth, soaking up all of the moisture as Ed sips at the hot chocolate. It tastes delicious because of fucking course it does. It catches on a lump in his throat but he takes another steaming sip to force it down, to dislodge the emotions trapped there and swallow them down.

The brush runs through his hair slowly, carefully separating the tangles and freeing any remaining bits of foliage. It tugs at his scalp, sending ripples of goosebumps along his skin, a pleasant tingle that makes him hum and sigh. Between the heat of Mustang at his back and the hot chocolate warming his belly, he finds himself swaying in a doze, completely at ease. His body still aches but Mustang serves an able distraction.

His empty mug sits discarded on the floor. His hair hangs straight and dry over his back but he’s long gone, curled up against Mustang’s chest like a comfortable cat, chest rumbling with his soft snores as Roy tenderly pets his hair. The blankets are pulled up over them and the fire crackles merrily, a warm defender against the frigid chill of the storm that rages outside. With any luck, they’ll be snowed in for days.


End file.
